Pearl of China (26 page)
Authors: Anchee Min
If it hadn’t been for the heavy bag I was carrying, I wouldn’t have believed that I was walking on American soil. It was early evening. The tour was over and the other visitors were gone. The air was brisk and the sky was turning dark. The trees and earth were blending into one gray color like shadows. It was clear that Pearl had bought this house and the land around it because the place had reminded her of Chin-kiang. For the rest of her life, this was the China she lived with.
How many times had she walked the path where I stood?
Darkness had almost settled in when I exited the house. I went on looking for Pearl’s grave, but it was getting hard to see. I moved like a ghost following the barely visible path. The side road led me back to the inn where I was staying.
The innkeeper, a middle-aged lady, asked if I’d had a pleasant visit.
“I missed seeing Pearl’s grave,” I told her.
“You must have walked right by it,” she said. “It’s easy to miss.”
“There wasn’t a sign, or did I miss that too?” Since arriving in the United States, I had learned that Americans were good with signs.
“Well, it was the way Pearl Buck wanted it.” The lady took out her keys and led me to my room. “Would you like me to book you a cab for tomorrow morning? What time is your train or flight?”
“I won’t leave until I see Pearl’s grave,” I said.
The lady looked at me and I could see the questions in her eyes.
“I have some business at the grave,” I tried to explain, hoping that my English would make sense to her.
“What kind of business?” She sounded cautious, a little suspicious.
I unzipped my backpack and took out the incense and the bag of dirt. I made a gesture of sprinkling dirt and put my palms together under my chin.
She didn’t seem to understand but said, “Here, let me draw you a map.”
I had been awake for a long time waiting for the dawn. At first light, I got up. I followed the inn lady’s map carefully. After turning off the main road, I went down a small dirt path.
The sun outlined the mountains and trees and coated the leaves gold. The view was unfamiliar yet I felt I had been here before. I could hear the sound of my feet moving through the sandy dirt. After a while, I thought I heard the sound of running water. Was it my imagination, because Chin-kiang was known for its creeks? I didn’t expect myself to be missing home, not yet. But no, I wasn’t imagining the sound of water. Here it was, in front of me, under my feet, a running creek.
I decided to inspect the creek and then continue my search for the grave.
The sunlight played across the water’s surface. I followed a path along the creek as it curled into the hills. On the far side of the creek were giant pine trees.
A view opened up. In front of me was a stand of bamboo—the same kind of golden bamboo we had in Chin-kiang.
Then I saw it, my friend’s grave, hidden among the bamboo.
My strength fled me. I dropped to my knees.
There was no English. The grave had three Chinese characters carved in the stone.
, meaning Pearl Sydenstricker.
My eyes filled with tears of happiness, and this time I did not fight them. I understood Pearl’s intent. Her roots in China hadn’t died. China was the final thing on her mind. China was what she took with her to eternity. It was impossible for her to remove her love, for she, in her own words, “had known the fullness of such love, which was absolute in height and depth.” A Westerner wouldn’t understand the meaning of these Chinese characters, but Pearl didn’t care. No wonder the innkeeper had said that the grave was easy to miss.
I felt as if Pearl were greeting me. I could hear her voice. “How was your journey?”
The three Chinese characters were Pearl’s signature stamp, given to her by her Chinese tutor, Mr. Kung. Pearl once explained her name to me when we were young. The first letter was pronounced
Sy
, as in Sydenstricker. Out of many same-tone-sounding characters, Mr. Kung chose the one with a “mansion, which has a grand roof,” and a “baby” playing underneath.
“My last name in Chinese means ‘a darling doll in the mansion.’”
Pearl was proud as she explained. “Do you like it?”
“I do,” I remembered replying, although I couldn’t read. I tried to hide this by examining the shape of the first character,
. “Look,” I said.
“This is not an ordinary mansion. It is the symbol of money.”
“That’s not money,” my friend laughed. “That’s the people shape.”
“Four of them under the roof!”
“Four workers. My father said that we are all the Lord’s workers.”
“The baby is big-bellied,” I cried.
“She loves food!” Pearl laughed.
The second Chinese character,
, was the picture of an oyster, but when combined with the third character,
, the meaning changed into
Pearl
.
My friend had chosen her final resting place beside the creek on purpose. The grave faced east, demonstrating that she had followed the rule of feng shui. The surrounding garden was walled in by pines and cypresses. Besides the bamboo, there were maples, evergreen bushes, and flowers. Wild lilies were scattered alongside the creek. There was a seemingly dead old tree that looked as if it had fallen across the creek. Its trunk was about two feet in diameter and it was rotten and hollow inside. What amazed me was that the tree had a lush green canopy. In the center of the rotten trunk, a young branch was healthy and robust. Pearl must have liked this tree. It fit a line from a Chinese poem, “
Spring
shows its power in rotten wood and dying trees
.”
I touched the cold stone and rested my cheek against it.
* * *
Dear Pearl
,Since you couldn’t go to China, I have brought China to you.
It is not the reunion I wished for for so long, but I feel blessed to have the
opportunity. Because my memory is failing, and because I didn’t want to forget
a thing, I have written six notes to be burned with the incense at your grave.The first note regards the end of Madame Mao. When she denied you
a visa, she was sure of her power. She believed that she would rule China
after her husband. But she didn’t last. After Mao died, she was arrested and
sentenced to death. It was less than four years after Nixon’s visit.The second note regards your mother’s grave. It almost didn’t survive
during the Cultural Revolution. Mao’s teenage mobs came to destroy the
grave. Lilac removed the stone tablet and fooled them. In other words,
what the Red Guard destroyed was not your mother’s grave. Today the
town of Chin-kiang has reclaimed Carie’s status. She is officially titled
the founder of the Chin-kiang middle school. Her spirit is celebrated and
honored at each Spring Memorial.The third note regards you. The mansion where your mother last lived
has been turned into the Pearl Buck Residence. I can hear you say, “But
that wasn’t my house!” True, however, it is important that the residence
in your name be presentable. You should understand that to a Chinese, the
place that houses your spirit has to be a temple. Copies of your photos, letters,
and books are on permanent display. I was not happy about the display
of your calligraphy, because the strokes were not yours. Your writing was
touched up by a professor from Beijing College of Art and Calligraphy. It
was part of the act of transforming you into a goddess so that people could
worship you. I didn’t bother to fight, because I thought that it was better
than calling you an American Cultural Imperialist.The fourth note regards the people who knew you, who, as long as they
lived, wondered how you did in America. I’d like to begin with Dick because
he knew you well and had the worst luck. He was too close to Mao and died
a horrible death. Please forgive me for being unable to report more about
him. Dick knew that Hsu Chih-mo loved you. Dick wanted to congratulate
you in person when he learned that you won the Nobel Prize. We were not
allowed to send a telegram to America. Dick said that Hsu Chih-mo would
have been so proud. He would have danced on his head. You will be pleased to
know that today Hsu Chih-mo’s poems are extremely popular. Young people
worship him as a poet whose voice speaks to their own generation. Newspapers
continue to print stories of his affairs as if they took place yesterday, and, of
course, they continue to miss the real target.Papa kept the church going until he died. He became a fighting angel like
Absalom except he fought guerrilla style. I am sure you missed Carpenter
Chan and Lilac. You knew that Carpenter Chan became a Christian,
converted by Absalom, but you might not have known that he joined the
Communists after Mao took power. Later he went back to God and worked
for Papa. I don’t think Americans are able to comprehend such a life, but
you would. You lived in China and knew how things can be.Lilac missed you so much that she could never stop talking about you. She
is the town’s longevity star and is in her nineties. Her three sons inherited
their father’s trade. It was a pity that you couldn’t see how they rebuilt
Absalom’s church, which is called the Chin-kiang Christian Church. Lilac
still fights with Vanguard, the beggar lady Soo-ching’s son, whose name
used to be Confucius. This was the mother and son you found in your
garden so long ago. He betrayed everyone to please Madame Mao. Soo-ching
wanted to disown her son, but Papa convinced her that she’d better
forgive or she wouldn’t go to heaven.You don’t know my daughter, Rouge, but she knows everything about
you. She is currently the mayor of Chin-kiang and is in charge of the
Pearl Buck Scholarship and the Hsu Chih-mo Scholarship. She gave birth
to one girl and adopted two girls from her husband’s previous marriage. All my granddaughters share the same middle name, Pearl. They are Pearl
Delight, Pearl Bright, and Pearl Flight.Remember Bumpkin Emperor, the warlord? He became an ardent
Christian and the pastor of our church. You will be shocked. Who wouldn’t
be? Like your father, Bumpkin Emperor was obsessed with converting
people. He tried to save them the way your father saved him. Bumpkin
Emperor remembered you as the mean, straw-haired girl. He never got
tired of telling people the story of how you fooled him with that bucket
of ink. The People’s Publishing House approached him with the idea of
publishing a children’s comic book based on the story.My fifth note regards the dirt I brought here. It is from your mother’s
grave. I’ll sprinkle it around. In the meantime, if I may, I will dig some soil
here, a little, just enough to fill the bag. I’ll carry it to your mother’s grave as
soon as I return and mix the soils. It pleases me to join your spirits.The last note regards my own wish. If you don’t mind, I’ll collect some
seeds from your trees here. I have no idea of the names of all the trees except
that they are American trees. According to the shapes of the nuts, they are
flowering trees. The importance of the trees is that they are from where you
are buried. I wouldn’t be surprised if you planted them yourself. I imagine
you would have. You understood that spirits gather through nature. I hear
your voice speaking through the creek, the pines, maples, bamboo, birds, and
bees. I will plant the seeds where I will be buried when my time comes. We
should then accompany each other forever. I have brought your favorite Tang
dynasty poem, “The Tune of Posaman.” “Yangtze River” ought to be changed
to “Pacific Ocean,” but I leave it the way it is. I know you always preferred
the original.I live by the Yangtze River near its source,
While you reside farthest down its course.
You and I drink water out of the same stream,
I haven’t seen you though daily of you I dream.When will this river water cease to run?
When shall I not love you, the way I do?
I only wish our two hearts would beat as one,
And you wouldn’t disappoint me in my love for you.Joy, gratitude, and sense of peace are what this moment means to me. I
thank God for the fortune of having known you.The creek is singing a happy song. The wind whispers like our old
conversations through trembling leaves. The air is pure and the sun warm. Once again, I see you running toward me with sunshine in your face. You
look like a jumping cloud in your indigo floral Chinese dress, your golden
hair bouncing.“Willow,” I hear you call, “hurry up, the popcorn man is here!”
